


The Things We Don't Say

by Farawayland



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheating, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29760879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farawayland/pseuds/Farawayland
Summary: No one is perfect, and sometimes, two people are just so perfectly flawed that those pieces fit together and make something beautiful. When sparks fly between two leads of a new hit show, is there a happy ending in sight, or will their own mistakes overshadow any chance they had at something worth fighting for.
Relationships: Baelfire | Neal Cassidy/Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Milah
Comments: 20
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a joyfully Captain Swan story, but there are a few warnings. It does start with Emma/Neal and Killian/Milah. I don't write non CS, so there won't be any sexual anything happening 'on screen', so to speak, between those couples, but I won't guarantee there may not be a mention. This story contains numerous episodes of cheating. If any of these things make you squick or are not your bag, carry on. 
> 
> I'm using this as a writing exercise and hope for fast updates with this, so fingers crossed that I can stick to that for once.

Emma scrolled through the email her manager had sent detailing the new role she was being offered. It was something fresh, something different from what she normally focused on—no hint of a police procedural in sight—and based on the tone, it sounded like they were very interested in getting her signed for one of the leads. She stretched her legs out along the couch, digging her cold toes underneath the pillows in search of some warmth, only to yank them back when she encountered something both crinkly and wet.

“Dammit, Neal! What the hell is this?” she growled, glaring at the brown sludge coating her foot.

She leaned forward, careful to angle her toes away from any other surface, and peeled the throw pillow from the couch. Smeared across the white fabric and the expensive leather was what looked like the remainder of a milky way bar, the wrapper still clinging to the puddle of caramel and chocolate.

“You have got to be kidding me. Neal!”

The only response she got was the sound of something hitting a pan full of oil in the kitchen, the apartment filled with the sizzling hiss of something frying. Dropping her phone and forgetting all about the email she’d just been reading, she hobbled down the hall into the bathroom to clean up, wondering how in the hell to get out a chocolate and caramel stain. Why he couldn’t just learn to clean up after himself was beyond understanding. Sometimes it felt like she was living with a teenager who never wanted to grow up, and she couldn’t help but long for the days when her apartment was clean and didn’t smell like whatever weird odor it was that Neal always brought home—grease and cigarette smoke, maybe.

Her foot finally clean enough to be walked on, she headed into the kitchen to get some paper towels only to be greeted by what looked like every dish she owned spread out on the counters and island. Every surface was dusted in flour and drips of batter, measuring spoons leaving trails of oil and sugar across the floor and counters alike.

“Oh my god,” she cringed, knowing the mess would be left for her. “What are you doing?”

“I was wondering when you’d get off the phone,” Neal poked, giving her a quick glance over his shoulder before motioning proudly over the mess that just seemed to get worse each time she looked at it. “I’m cooking.”

The casual way he always stabbed at her phone use was exactly what she didn’t want to hear right now. Maybe she wouldn’t have to spend so much time working if he bothered looking for something himself. He’d had a recurring role on a family comedy when they met, but he’d been fired not long after, and for the last six months, Emma was pretty sure he hadn’t even gone to any of the auditions she’d mentioned. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if he had an agent anymore. 

“When was the last time you had a Milky Way?” she asked, choosing to ignore his snide comment. She just wasn’t in the mood.

“That’s a weird question. I don’t know, maybe last week? You didn’t pick any up the last time you ran to the store.”

Emma nodded, her lips drawn tight as she tore paper towels from the rack and returned to the living room, pulling what she could of the melted mass from the couch and thinking she’d need to resort to Google to get the rest out. Her anger bubbled with every sticky string of caramel that wrapped around her fingers. Why couldn’t he go to the store on his day off? He only had seven of them. She stomped back into the kitchen, hitting the garbage can a little harder than necessary and tossing the mess of chocolate and paper inside.

There was just enough room in the overload sink—what had he used the _colander_ for—that she could wash her hands.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge. What was so important that you had to turn the entire kitchen into a complete disaster?” she questioned, already adding up how much time it would take her to wash and wipe everything down.

She’d be lucky if she was able to get back to her manager before tomorrow as requested.

“You remember that travel show we watched the other night?” he prodded, his eyes glued to the pan as it hissed on the stovetop, a spatula held ready in his hand. “You mentioned you hadn’t had good churros since that trip to Mexico, so I thought maybe I’d make you some.”

The anger that had been just about to boil over slipped away to that place far enough below everything else that she could just go back to ignoring it. 

“Neal,” she sighed, suddenly more exhausted than anything else. “Thanks.”

“Of course, Ems—anything for you.”

In the living room her phone blared to life, the dark tones of The Imperial March echoing as it vibrated across the coffee table.

“Work calls,” Neal sniped, a trace of resentment running beneath the pleasant smile he fixed in her direction. “Wouldn’t want to keep Regina waiting.”

It was amazing how quickly that anger came right back to the top of everything, and she found her feet pushing her as far away from Neal as possible, snatching her phone from the table and forgetting entirely about the couch as she stormed into the bedroom.

“What?” she hissed, slamming the door behind her and clenching the cell like it was something she wanted to crush. “What is so important that you couldn’t give me a few more hours, Regina?”

The other end of the line was silent, as if Regina had either hung up, or was waiting for an apology. Well, she wasn’t getting one—not today.

“Is there something you needed, Regina?”

“Are you okay?” Regina asked, not as a friend, but as an employee that was curious to know how soon she would have to contact Emma’s PR team and inform them a mental breakdown was imminent.

“I’m fine. It’s just a bad time. I got the details you sent. I just haven’t read through everything yet.”

“Well, that explains why I haven’t heard from you. Honestly, I thought you cared more about your career than that. I was quite clear this was urgent. Don’t take your time with this one, Miss Swan—they want you, but they can’t wait much longer.”

The line went dead after Regina had delivered her scolding and Emma sighed, dropping to the bed and rolling onto her back as she flicked back into her email and started again from the top. It was an interesting premise with even more depth than she’d originally thought—a new series that centered on the mental health of a man who had developed delusions after a car accident that took his brother, leading him to believe everyone in the hospital was a character from a fairy tale world—but then she got the part that Regina really focused on, the money.

“Holy shit!” Emma gasped, double checking the figures and thinking how she’d never seen such a good offer—not for someone in her bracket. It was unheard of. “I guess they really do want me.”

It wasn’t until she read through the rest of the itinerary and details that she wondered if the big paycheck wasn’t recompense for the filming location and duration—the middle of Nowhere, Maine, as if Maine wasn’t already considered the middle of nowhere.

She read everything twice before she shot Regina a quick text. 

**E: I’ll take it**

The message had only just sent and there were already three ellipses following. Emma could practically hear her manager’s smug response.

**R: I knew you would. I’ll be in touch.**

There should have been nerves fluttering in her stomach, or at least a solid pit of dread at the prospect of having to walk into the kitchen and tell Neal, but there was nothing. It was a big decision to move across the country for what could be a long-term role, but it was still _her_ decision to make.

Hopefully, he would be happy for her, he would understand that this had the potential of lifting her out of her rut and providing great income for the foreseeable future. There were some great names attached, veterans of the industry that were looking to branch out into a new genre.

She was excited for the first time in a long time. 

She didn’t need to feel guilty, at least that was what she told herself as a niggling pang of guilt worked its way into her chest.

It would be good to break it to him gently though, to put a good spin on it.

The minutes ticked by and she finally realizing she couldn’t put it off any longer, she wandered into the kitchen, her arms crossed in front of her as she looked for him, but the apartment was empty. The stove was turned off and a plate, probably the last clean one, was waiting on the counter with a pile of golden churros perched on top of a greasy paper towel.

Next to it was another torn paper towel with a note scratched onto it in sharpie.

_The boys called and I’m heading out for a few beers. Don’t wait up. Enjoy the churros._

She waited for the anger to bubble back to the top, but there was nothing—no anger, no guilt, just a deep, hollow nothingness that grew and yawned as she fingered the scrap of a note transparent with oily fingerprints. Feeling like maybe this job had come at the best possible time, she picked up the plate of churros and walked over to the trash, watching them slide in with the rest of the garbage.


	2. Chapter 2

Killian sighed into the hard press of his fingers against his tired eyes, listening to the soft hum of the elevator as it climbed to his floor. He’d look like a drunken raccoon by the time he got into the apartment, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. An early morning shoot that had dragged late into the day left him feeling more dead than alive, and he hadn’t bothered with his normal clean up on set. The time saved getting back to his bed was the bright side—the downside was a few fans had recognized him when he jumped out of his uber, his trademark eyeliner and messily styled hair a giveaway. He’d managed a few weak smiles as they snapped pictures and hurried on his way, taking a few strange turns and slipping a spare beanie he kept in his pocket over his head. That, a popped collar, and hunched shoulders normally did the trick. Being famous certainly had its perks, but crazed fans knowing where he lived certainly wasn’t one of them.

It was usually simpler to drive to set, but lately he’d been to worn out to trust himself behind the wheel. The past two weeks had been a nightmare of last minute reshoots and publicity, and he couldn’t wait for it to all be over.

The elevator doors slid open, Killian staring at them for a moment before he realized her was staring at the familiar artwork that spanned the hall outside his condo. Desperately trying to blink away sleep, he trudged down the hall, leaning his forehead against the cool metal door for a brief second before unlocking it and heading in. 

God, he hoped Milah was content to have a quiet night in.

Everything was blessedly dark and quiet when he stepped into the entryway, shrugging his leather jacket off and hanging it on the waiting hook, his boots next as he eased them off his aching feet and lined them up neatly below the jacket. He rolled his neck and stretched, wrinkling his nose as he realized a fifteen-hour day filming had left him less than fresh.

A hot shower and bed—that was the plan. With any luck, and the darkened apartment seemed to be on his side, Milah would already be stretched beneath the covers and he could slip in behind her and fall asleep pressed to her warmth. It would be the perfect start to a weekend otherwise free of engagements and obligations.

“Milah?” he whispered, not wanting to startle her if she was relaxing in the living area.

There was always the chance she’d gone out with friends earlier and wouldn’t be home until late. It was a Friday, after all.

His back ached as he stretched his shirt over his head, balling it up and launching it toward the hamper as he walked into the bedroom. A glaring light greeted him from around the corner and he realized that Milah was indeed home, but not where he’d hoped. It looked as if a tornado had blown through the walk-in closet—every pair of heels she owned were tossed onto the floor and the chaise was covered with a haphazard pile of glittering dresses. Milah was standing in front of the mirrored wall, a sequined, black strapless number pulled over her body but left unzipped as she adjusted a pair of large earrings, her brow furrowed.

“Oh, thank god your home,” she huffed, flashing an annoyed smile over her shoulder as she slid her second earring in. “This zipper is absolutely impossible.”

He smiled and stepped into the closet, taking care to avoid the dresses that had sloughed onto the carpeting.

“I’m happy to help, darling,” he assured, catching the nearly invisibly zipper and easing it up her back. There were certainly nights he would have coaxed her into agreement that _off_ was the far better option, but tonight he was more than happy to get her dressed and out the door if that was what she so desired. “Headed anywhere special?”

“It’s that opening of the new club—you know, the one with the glass ceiling that everyone has been going on about. I mentioned it the other night—good _lord_ , Killian, you positively reek.”

Killian flashed a tired smile in the mirror, but her frown only deepened.

“Honestly, Killian, you can’t go out like that. You’ll need to have a quick shower.”

Killian’s brows echoed her own displeasure as he realized what she was implying.

“Did you want my company, as well?”

“Do you even listen when I speak? Sometimes I wonder. I told you two nights ago that Lara and William were expecting us. They’ve barely seen you.”

Killian couldn’t remember a Lara, but he seemed to recall a bright, friendly man with reddish-blond hair who may have been a William. No matter who they were, he had no interest in spending the evening with them, and even less in spending the evening on his feet in an obnoxious club.

“It’s been a long day, Milah—every day for the past couple weeks has, and I’m exhausted—”

“You’re absolutely right, Killian, it _has_ been a long day, a long few weeks, and I’m sorry that I thought I might get to spend some time with you at the end of all of it. How foolish of me,” she snapped, and Killian felt the words like a slap to his face.

“No, you’re right. It’s—I’m sorry. I’ll have a quick rinse and get dressed.”

Milah beamed at him, adjusting her hair and checking that everything was just as she wanted it to be in the mirror. Killian pressed a soft kiss to her bare shoulder, the warmth of her smile washing away a bit of his exhaustion.

He wanted her to be happy, and perhaps the past few weeks had been more difficult for her than she let on.

“It will be a lovely night, I promise,” she said, shoving him gently toward the bathroom as she turned to reappraise the pile of heels.

* * *

Despite Milah’s initial enthusiasm that he’d agreed to join her and two people he most definitely did not remember—apparently William had brown hair and was quite pretentious—it was _not_ a lovely night. The hot shower and the warmth of Milah’s arm in his had been enough to fool him into think it might be the tiniest bit enjoyable—after all, it had been some time since he’d been to a club—but he’d been wrong, very wrong.

Everything from the moving lights to the music to the stench of hot bodies pressed against one another was giving him a pounding headache, and he slid down further into his chair, nursing a rum and casting about for Milah, wherever she’d gone. He’d wanted to give her a nice evening at his side, but he hadn’t been able to find it in him to join her on the dance floor—probably because his feet had blisters from filming in his costume boots all day—and she hadn’t been able to find it in her to forgive him.

He’d been able to keep track of her at first, but soon she was lost in the crush of bodies and he was lost in his rum—at least it helped dull the sounds a bit.

He didn’t know if it was the insane schedule he was booked to finish shooting for his latest movie, or just the lack of free time, but nothing felt quite right lately, and he was worried a change was needed. Milah was clearly unhappy with his schedule, with how much distance it put between them. He found himself wondering if perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad time to step back a bit, to get away and really dedicate some time to the two of them.

It was a question he’d come back to more than once in the past few months, and as much as he wanted to feel that doing so was the right answer, his gut kept telling him it wasn’t.

He loved her, he certainly didn’t want her to be miserable, but the thought of missing out on opportunities at the high point of his career, it did worry him. Liam had worked more than any person should have to help put him through school, and he’d only ever wanted happiness for his little brother. Liam was a big enough man to know that for Killian that meant acting, even if it was a hard path. If Killian were to step back now, would that be doing justice to his brother’s sacrifice. What if he started turning down offers and never bounced back from it?

He searched the dance floor once more, but there was no sign of his Milah. Knowing she was probably hurt enough to ignore him for the rest of the night, he whipped out his phone and started scrolling through emails, most of them simply things his manager had already spoken with him about over the phone. It wasn’t until he scrolled farther back, nearly hypnotized by the small boxes flying along the screen, that a flagged email came to his attention and he stopped. The details were familiar, and he only just remembered the conversation he’d had with Cora.

It had been an offer for the lead role in a new series, but he’d turned it down due to the filming location. He’d been worried about having to uproot Milah, but scanning through everything once more, he found himself second-guessing his first decision. Perhaps it would be the answer they needed, and the more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him personally.

Maine was certainly quiet and would allow for more quality time together—and the pay was bloody obscene, which never hurt. According to Cora, the role had been written specifically for him. He wondered how the showrunners had taken it when he declined.

His finger hovered over reply.

He should probably discuss it will Milah first, but then thoughts of Liam tugged at his tired mind and he reread the arc for the lead role, each sentence making him more inclined to see if taking it on was still a possibility.

He’d earned his name and place in Hollywood by becoming the face of playboys and scoundrels, all of his characters well-known for their rakish appeal, but to be honest, he was starting to become concerned he may not be offered anything more diverse if he didn’t branch out soon. This role—this would be something different, something Liam would be proud of. The series treaded water somewhere between a fantasy show and a piece that examined the very fabric of what is real, the main character a man who suffered great personal tragedy and loss only to have his independence and health rocked.

The more Killian looked at it, the more he knew it was for him, the words swimming with possibility...or rum. He didn't know what about his previous roles had drawn the showrunners to him of all their choices, but for the first time in a while, he really wanted something.

He really wanted _this_.

A feeling of certainty settled in his gut and he shot off a reply to Cora.

**K: I want this, do what you need to do.**

The message sent and he almost expected to look up and see Milah hovering over him, a flushed smile on her cheeks from dancing, her hair falling in tendrils around her face, but his table is still empty and the dance floor is still a writhing mass of faceless people.

Raising his glass in a lonely toast, he took another drag of rum and closed his eyes.

He wants to dream that she’ll be as happy as he is, that’s all he wants for her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, that 'quick' update was held up a little as I waited to replace my broken laptop. I'm posting with only a brief once-over since I hoped to get it out sooner, so all of the numerous mistakes are most certainly mine. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

“That isn’t going to fit there, Neal,” Emma insisted, doing a miraculous job of _not_ rolling her eyes. “It needs to go in the trunk.”

“The trunk's full, Emma.”

“I know, but the cooler bag fits better behind the driver seat, this one’s too bulky, and if we move the –”

Neal gave the suitcase another solid push, wedging it between the seats with a satisfied grunt. “There, see, I told you it would fit.”

“Great,” Emma deadpanned, already over the joys of packing the car for what Neal insisted would be the best cross-country trip ever. She wasn’t thinking about how stupid it was to put the cooler bag with the snacks and drinks in the trunk. She really wasn’t, because mentioning it a third time wasn’t going to help. It really wasn’t. “I’ll drive.”

“No, no—I got it, I’m driving.”

“The whole trip?”

“Well, at least the first leg. We want to get this off to a good start, am I right?” he teased, shooting her one of those smiles she used to find charming. “You can be my copilot.”

“Sounds...great.”

She double checked that the trunk was closed and walked around the back of the sedan—a Lexus she’d eventually replaced her old bug with when she could finally afford something that ran more often than it broke down—quickly flicking on her phone screen to check for any updates from Regina before Neal could see and say something— _this trip is for us, Em, not for work_.

With nothing new, she pocketed her cell and slipped into the passenger’s seat with a hopeful smile. Maybe Neal was right, maybe this trip would be exactly what she needed to remind her of why they had fallen for each other in the first place, the way to rekindle that spark, so to speak.

She turned to say something— _hey, I’m glad we’re doing this—_ but was met with Neal twisting and making a pained faced as he tried to get comfortable in the seat.

“What the hell is wrong with this car, Emma?” he grumbled, swiping beneath the seat in search of something. “Where’s the freaking—ah, got it!”

He finally found the adjuster and released it, pushing back to get some more leg room, only to be met by the firm resistance of the suitcase he’d shoved behind the seat.

“Seriously!” he snapped, throwing wide the door and stomping out, Emma flinching slightly as he jerked open the back door and it bounced on its hinges.

She bit back the words she wanted to say— _hey, watch the doors, buddy. I paid for this, not you…and by the way, I told you it wouldn’t fit there—_ because she had at least a week to look forward to in this car with him. A week of navigating, arguing over the radio, and sightseeing that Neal insisted was necessary.

God, what had she signed herself up for?

The entire car shifted as Neal jerked and wiggled the suitcase loose from the floor, dragging it outside and around the back of the sedan. Emma watched in the rearview as the trunk popped open and the suitcase was tossed in, the cooler bag lined with waves swinging into view as he slammed it shut.

She didn’t say anything as he dropped the cooler bag comfortably behind the driver’s seat and climbed back in, adjusting his position. The car started with less protest than Emma felt in her stomach. She wondered how long she’d have to wait to be able to say anything at all without him snapping at her—he'd always been a bit like that, needing the time to brood and get over his own feelings before she could engage him –not that he'd shown that side right away.

It turned out that the answer was _not_ ten minutes later when she grabbed a Yoo-hoo from the cooler and asked if he was thirsty.

* * *

Emma stepped around the side of the gas station with her cell pressed to her ear, sweat dripping from her hairline. They were somewhere in New Mexico and between the mistake she’d made in agreeing to this road trip to begin with and Regina calling to chastise her for it, she wasn’t in the best of moods.

She listened to the last few snippy comments and hummed her assent before the line went dead and she shoved the phone in her pocket. It hadn’t taken long for her to regret the entire ordeal, and two and half days in, she was trying to figure out ways she could pay someone to drive her car to Maine, buy a return ticket for Neal to LA, and get herself to the filming location as quickly as possible. Rather than remembering why they’d fit so well in the first place, all of her misgivings about the relationship were just getting buried beneath new worries and fears.

“ _Maine, Emma?” Neal exclaimed, the shock of the news leaving him with almost nothing to say. “Maine? What the fuck is in Maine?”_

“ _A great opportunity, Neal.”_

“ _Yeah, for you!”_

“ _Well, the job is for me, so that’s kind of the idea,” she retorted, not quite what he was expecting when she said Regina had lined up a great offer for her across the country._

“ _Did you even think about me at all, did you think about us?”_

“ _I did, but I figured we could make something work.”_

“ _So, you were just planning on leaving me behind?”_

_She would have felt bad if he actually looked hurt, but he looked more annoyed than anything else._

“ _I thought you could come out if you wanted to.”_

“ _And what, hang around in the woods all day while you work?”_

“ _Why not?” she finally snapped, her patience absolutely shredded. “It’s what you do here—hang around the apartment and go out drinking with your buddies instead of looking for work. What would really be so different, Neal, some fresh air?”_

“ _Nice, Emma, real nice. You know, it wasn’t easy losing my job and then having to be reminded about how much more successful you were every time I came home. That does a number on a guy—and I have been looking for something…I’ve been doing auditions left and right. They just don’t want me.”_

_She shouldn't have felt guilty. She didn't need to apologize for being successful just to make her boyfriend feel better, but the anger did start to slip away from her. It wasn't hard to remember how much she'd struggled before she got her breakout role, and yeah, it probably wasn’t easy coming home to a girlfriend who was overloaded with work and offers when every day was a reminder you were struggling. Still, it didn’t mean she should give up a good opportunity._

“ _I’ve already signed on, and this role could mean big things for me, Neal—moving on from the same stuff I’ve been doing over and over on the networks. It’s important to me. I’m tired of playing the same characters. Can you at least try to understand that?”_

“ _I don’t want to lose you, Em. I don’t want to do a long-distance thing, it won’t work. Couldn’t you take something closer?”_

“ _Why don’t you come out for a while? I’ll find a place and then you can fly back and forth, or I can if there’s time.”_

“ _And be your boy toy, hanging around set? I don’t know.”_

“ _I don’t know what else to do, Neal.”_

_She did know what to do, what the answer might be, but she couldn’t say it, wasn’t ready to. Emma hadn’t had many good relationships—scratch that, any—but she still remembered how great things were at the beginning with Neal. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to let go of the chance of getting it back, the way they'd careened from one day to the next, never making plans and just enjoying each hour as it came._

“ _Do you think there could be a spot on the show for me?”_

“ _What?” she asked, genuinely confused. Was he asking her to find him work? “A spot on the show?”_

“ _Yeah, you know, maybe there’s a side character they haven’t cast, or even something I can do on set. I can’t come out there and just be your boyfriend, Emma. I need to have a reason.”_

_Emma pushed down how much those last words stung._

“ _I don’t know,” she hedged, suddenly uncomfortable with what he was asking. “I suppose I can ask Regina if they’re still auditioning for anything, or if there’s anything on the crew they need to fill.”_

“ _That’d be amazing, Ems! Hey, you know what we should do? Road trip out there—it’ll be a great way to get in a little vacation before you start long hours on set.”_

It was not, it turned out, a great idea, but now she didn’t know how to get out of it without being a complete bitch.

Regina had responded to her request with a long stretch of silence and a tight 'I'll see what I can do', and by some miracle, or as it turned out, curse, Neal had ended up getting a gig with lighting thanks to some experience he had from back before he tried his hand at acting.

She’d felt pretty grimy over the whole thing ever since.

If she told Regina that Neal wasn’t coming, that she’d changed her mind and didn’t think it was best he join her, she’d look like a complete idiot before she even got a chance to make a first impression—and with the people she was getting to work with, she did _not_ want that to happen. She just hoped bringing Neal along didn’t end up being an even worse impression.

Emma slid her cell reluctantly back into her pocket. She felt cornered with no satisfactory way out.

Neal had already climbed back into the car and she could see him craning his neck, probably eager to get back on the road and on his way to whatever amazing destination he had planned next. She dropped into the seat next to him, almost jumping when he tossed something crinkly onto her lap.

“Look, apple danish, your favorite, right?”

Emma picked up the sticky pastry wrapped in plastic. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she hated apples.

It was going to be a long week.

* * *

“No Molly?” Cora inquired, not bothering to look up from her cell as Killian slotted his carry on into the overhead bin.

“Milah,” he corrected, securing the latch and dropping to his seat next to her, “and no, she had something to attend and will be flying out separately in a few days.”

“Well, at least I won’t have to listen to her prattle on with everyone around us then. Did you sign the paperwork that Sidney sent over? The owner of the building wanted all of that back as quickly as possible.”

“Aye, it’s been taken care of,” he assured his manager, “ and I know you don’t care for Milah, but you can bloody well keep your thoughts to yourself.”

Cora’s impeccably manicured finger hesitated over her phone momentarily before she hummed something that was probably a dismissal and went back to her other thoughts. It wasn’t often he lost his temper with the woman, but nothing about this move to Maine and the new job had gone as planned. Perhaps that would teach him to make career decisions while sleep deprived and two glasses into a hangover.

At first, everything had seemed to be going smoothly. Milah was looking forward to traveling again, she always was, and was thrilled he'd found something to be excited about, but as the weeks passed and the time came to start planning a relocation, it was obvious that her enthusiasm was waning. He’d share the apartment listings he’d been sent over dinner, or while they relaxed on the couch, but there was always something wrong with each of them.

Filming for his latest movie—a biopic of Ned Kelly—had finally come to a close, leaving him with a much more open schedule, and he’d done his best to use it wisely, accepting invitations for restaurant and theatre openings that he would normally decline, Milah gamely at his side and enjoying every moment. She was happy then, he could see it in her face, but as soon as they were back at the apartment, Killian handing her a listing he thought could finally be the right one for their stay in Maine, the happiness was gone.

He didn’t understand. She’d loved traveling with him to Australia to film the main chunk of the scenes for _Bushranger_. He knew Maine wasn’t quite the same as Australia, but she loved to be outdoors, so he was sure they’d be able to find plenty to occupy their time, and it wasn’t as if there wouldn’t be breaks for travel elsewhere.

She’d grown increasingly morose and displeased as their departure grew closer. Cora’s consistent nagging over the phone hadn’t helped either—the two women had never gotten along, despite the fact that Milah had been a large part of Killian’s life for the past few years. He almost wasn’t surprised when Milah stated she would need to delay her flight out, that her dear friend was having an opening that very same night and she just couldn’t miss it. He was disappointed, of course, they always flew together, but he bit the inside of his cheek, knowing the change was hard for her, and smiled.

_It’s no trouble, darling. It will give me time to get settled and then we can go exploring when you arrive._

She’d almost seemed upset that he wasn’t more upset, but what was he to do? He knew he should be grateful for his career—and he was—but he was _tired_ of filming all over the world, tired of the non-stop flying and travel and premieres in countries he could neither remember nor name because they came one after the next. He was craving a bit of peace and quiet, and maybe the ability to make some friends that he would actually be able to spend more than a few hectic months with. He just wanted something to ground him, to feel settled, even if it was only for a little while. This series would provide that if it got picked up.

“If you don’t stop,” Cora snapped, flicking his fingers from the fold down tray he had been tapping them on without even realizing it, “they’re going to assume your nerves are due to something entirely more seditious than marital problems. Can you imagine the headlines? _Killian Jones, international movie star removed from airline under suspicion of—_ ”

“Stop it,” he growled, noticing that the flight crew was in fact paying close attention to him, he could only hope it was because they knew who he was, “and we’re not married.”

“Yes, interesting, isn’t it? One would think the lovely Miley would have a ring by now.”

“It’s—bloody hell, Cora, haven’t you got something productive to do? Something I pay you for?”

“You pay me to be your manager. That’s what I’m doing.”

“A job description that does not include relationship advice, if I recall.”

Despite the fact that he was studiously avoiding her gaze, he could sense her heavily-lidded side eye. Cora was a force to be reckoned with in the entertainment industry. She’d come up as a young actress and fought her way through a male dominated industry to become the power-wielding builder of stars that she was today—and some would call her heartless for it, but Killian Jones knew better. She measured her success by the success of her clients, so she was just as invested in making sure they made no missteps in their career. That’s how he knew this series was the right one, at the right time for him. He just hated how Cora’s pointed jabs were able to worm their way through to that one place inside of him where there was a question that he didn’t want to answer.

_Why hadn’t he asked her yet?_

Despite wishing he could leave his doubts behind him, they stayed with him as the plane taxied and eventually took off, soaring out of LAX and to the place that would be his home for the foreseeable future. He was very much looking forward to meeting the cast and crew. It had been some time since he’d worked on a series, and from what he remembered, there was always a sense of camaraderie that developed when it was just the right fit. He hoped that was the case. There were a few old hands that would be taking on roles, people he was very much looking forward to working alongside, and then there were some lesser known people, some of them that he'd heard of, and others that would be new faces indeed. It seemed like it would be a good mix, and from the small glimpses of writing he’d seen, the show had a lot of promise.

Even with his heart still heavy that Milah was back in LA while he flew cross country alone, he somehow managed to slip into a brief sleep, one more testament to the exhaustion that hadn’t really left him when shooting stopped.

When he woke, it was with a refreshed excitement he hadn’t felt in some time, but he couldn’t quite shake the tumultuous feeling that this decision was a big one, and that it would change things for him in an irreversible way—he just hoped it was all for the better.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! An update that's less than two weeks apart. Insane, I know. I really, really love this chapter, so I hope everyone else feels the same. XO

* * *

By the time Emma pulled into Storybrooke – the small town that would be home base for most of the cast and crew – she hated almost everything. She hated her car. She hated the way the visor didn't quite block the sun when she flipped it to the side window. She hated the way Neal snorted and stretched every five minutes while he napped, making the leather seats squeak like they were being tortured.

There were numerous other things that had made it onto her list, but right now, those were the top three.

It didn’t take her long to find the Inn where she was meeting Regina, a quaint looking place called Granny’s B&B. Regina also happened to be close to the top of her list at the moment – not that _that_ was unusual—and she knew it was unfair, but after seven days in close quarters with absolutely no break from Neal, she was feeling pretty resentful that Regina had actually been able to find him a gig.

_God, she was the shittiest girlfriend._

She'd asked herself more than once why she was dragging it out, why she couldn't just _let go_ , but every time she opened her mouth to have the conversation, the moment was wrong – and then five minutes later he'd do or say something that reminded her of how things used to be.

So here she was pulling into some parking lot in some small town, hoping that this would be when things got better. Now that Neal had something of his own, something to occupy his time, things would get better. She didn't want to think about what it meant if they didn't.

_Being alone, again._

She rolled the Lexus into a spot and turned off the engine, biting her cheek, which was starting to feel a little abused, when Neal let out a snort that sounded more like he was choking and jumped in the seat.

“We're there?” he muttered, snapping the seat into a more upright position and rubbing his eyes. “You could have woken me sooner.”

“Yup.”

It was an answer to both, and they both knew it.

She wasted no time getting out to stretch her legs. Part of her was tempted to just toss the keys inside, leave the door wide open, and hope this was the kind of town where someone would make the car and all its contents disappear in short order—but a quick look around dashed her hopes of any nearby chop shops. The whole vibe was very charming New England, more likely to be featured on a Christmas Card or a Hallmark production than Cops.

The good news was that she started to hate less and less as the afternoon wore on. Neal was dragged off to some sort of orientation for new hires at the inn, and other than giving directions, Regina kept her thoughts to herself as Emma drove to the apartment building that would be her home for the duration of her stay on the show.

By the time Emma had dragged her luggage up the stairs and into her new apartment, the cloud of hate and regret that had followed her all the way from LA seemed to have dissipated. Most of the crew would be put up in town, but she’s chosen a cozy condo in a building halfway between the town itself and the area where the series was being shot. Nestled on the coast, the listing had made it seem like the perfect get away after a long day on set, and the apartment itself did not disappoint.

The front door opened into a spacious entry and living room, everything furnished with simple, clean furniture and modern lines. An open plan kitchen and long breakfast bar looked out of the living area, and a hallway led off to the right. Emma was guessing the bedrooms and bath would be in that direction. The feature that had caught her eye when she was first looking at listings, however, was the balcony that stretched along the wide glass doors and windows straight ahead, the calm, grey wash of the bay stretching out into the distance.

The water was still touched by the sun as late afternoon dragged on, highlighting each swell of water as it washed against the rocky shore. It wasn’t one of the lazy, sun-drenched beaches she was used to on the west coast, but it had an untouched beauty that instantly made the stress fall from her shoulders.

She wasn’t sure how long she stared out across the view, but Regina’s piercing voice and the staccato of her heels climbing the stairs cut through the quiet. A quick glance at her cell revealed she’d had fifteen blissful minutes of peace.

That would have to be enough.

“We don’t have all evening, Ms. Swan,” Regina scolded, hovering in the still open doorway to the condo with her arms crossed in front of her sleek blazer.

Emma muttered a few choice words she hoped Regina wouldn't actually hear and dragged her luggage down the hallway toward the bedroom. Not really getting a chance to look anything over, she grabbed a clean shirt from her bag and swiped some fresh deodorant on for good measure. There was no way she was meeting the production team and showrunner in a sweatshirt that stunk like sweat and Doritos.

_Thank you, Neal, for using it as napkin._

Shaking her hair free of its elastic and flipping her part to the other side, she felt a little more like a human being.

Any vestiges of uncertainty Emma may have been harboring about the move were gone once she met with the showrunner, Emrys – _yes, his parents had a bizarre obsession with Arthurian legend, and yes, everyone did call him Merlin._ The Production Designer, Rowan, a petite woman with dark, curly hair and a vibrant streak of turquoise that belied her serious tone, showed Emma around the different locations they would be filming.

Anticipation was buzzing along her skin. She wasn't sure she'd been this excited about a project in a long time. Despite being exhausted and just mentally worn down after her trip out, she couldn't wait to meet all of her fellow cast and get started.

There had been a host of other people and techs she'd been introduced to, their names blurring into a hazy fog it would take her some time to sort through, but everyone had been so welcoming and friendly – except for the gaffer, Leroy, he just seemed irritated to be taken away from his work to meet 'another one of the actors'.

By the time she'd dropped Regina back at the inn with promises not to neglect the last of the paperwork in her email that needed a once over, she was so excited she wasn't sure she'd be able to sleep. Her fingers were itching to get wrapped around a script and see just how this series was going to take off. Merlin had insisted on keeping everything very hush-hush so far, and while she knew there were a few veterans of the industry returning to take on a role, the real gossip on the tip of everyone's tongue was regarding the mysterious Hollywood heavy-hitter that would taking on the starring role – that just so happened to be the role opposite her own. She'd tried to pry the intel out a few people, but nobody was talking if they knew, and even Merlin himself had side-stepped her questions with a smile, only saying that everyone was 'very-excited'.

Emma tossed her keys onto the table near the door and crossed the room, looking out over the water that glimmered faintly in the moonlight. From where she was standing right now, there seemed to be a lot of promise going forward – an exciting new job, a great group of people to work with, and some new connections in the industry. She and Regina didn't always see eye to eye, in fact, their personalities clashed more often than they didn't, but she was a great manager. She should probably stop mentally taking our her 'Neal-issues' on the poor woman.

Thinking of Neal made her stomach turn with uneasiness.

Maybe the seven-day trip from hell would be just one more bad thing they could move past, there had been enough over the past few months that they both knew the routine. There was also the chance that Neal landing work might solve some problems, take some of the pressure off of them. She couldn't honestly say that she was the most supportive girlfriend, in fact, lately she'd just been kind of shut down when it came to the two of them – exhausted both mentally and physically. Half of it was Neal, and the other half had been finishing off another stint on a show that had her employing the same techniques again and again. Maybe this project would change that. Maybe all of this could change Neal too and they'd be able to find their way back to those early days when things were carefree and easy.

She let out a sigh she didn't know she'd been holding. Everything was still and quiet, and a quick glance at her phone told her it was late. She was actually surprised Neal wasn't already back – he'd said he would get a ride over from someone on the crew when orientation was done, which must have been hours ago. Well, maybe everyone was getting to know one another. That would be good for him, relaxing and having a drink with the people he'd be working alongside. She headed to the bedroom where she'd dropped her bag earlier, taking in the clean rooms and crisp white linens.

_No candy bars melting on anything._

It wasn't until she'd washed her face and changed into clean pajamas, a tank top and shorts, that she heard the massive cacophony of something falling down the stairs in the hall outside.

“Shit, Neal!” she cursed, running through the apartment and picturing her boyfriend drunk – _because when did he ever come home sober –_ and splayed out at the bottom of the stairs that led to the first floor.

She flung the door open and rushed out, her eyes already so focused on the landing below that she didn't see the dark shape of a person standing outside of her door.

A yelp of surprise fell from her lips as she barreled into him, their bodies tangled as they started to go over. Emma panicked, as one unexpectedly falling normally does, but found herself wrapped in a pair of strong, warm arms, her cheek and hands pressed tightly against a very firm chest as they hit the floor.

“Shit, sorry!” she stammered, hurrying to find her feet while offering a hand to the man still leaning half-fallen on the floor, only a mop of dark, disheveled hair visible as he eased himself back up, taking her hand in his own. “I thought my...I thought someone fell down the stairs.”

She knew her cheeks were flushed red as the man stood to his full height and finally met her gaze, his bright, blue eyes dropping to meet her own. His cheeks were tinged pink as well, but he smiled brightly and gave her hand a friendly squeeze before dropping it.

“There's no harm done, lass,” he assured her, and then turned his eyes toward the landing below. “Except to my luggage, of course. The lighting is awful in this building.”

“Yeah, it is a little dark...wait a minute. You –”

The man's open smile became a bit more bashful, his eyes – _god, if they weren't the most beautiful, crystalline blue she'd ever seen –_ dropping to his feet. It wasn't until he raised his glance again, those eyes lingering on the long line of her bare legs and the flash of skin peeking from beneath her shirt that Emma saw how the color on his cheeks traveled further, warming the tips of his ears.

“Killian Jones,” she stated, crossing her arms in front of her chest with a pleased smirk.

“Ah, so you've heard of me,” he grinned, flashing a bit of the persona he so often fell into when being interviewed.

“Damn right, and now I won't be blindsided tomorrow like the rest of the cast. I hate surprises.”

“Just who are you?” he wondered aloud, his luggage forgotten as he tipped his head in interest. “You look familiar, but I apologize, I can't place you...”

“Well, I haven’t graced as many covers as you, I suppose,” she admitted, not embarrassed—after all, she’d pulled herself up from nothing to get where she was, “maybe just the occasional ensemble shot for TV Guide.”

“No, that's not it.” He studied her, and for an instant she thought he was going to reach for her cheek and turn her face to get a better look, but then he smiled and his face was lit with the exuberance of a kid on Christmas morning. “I know you. You played the younger sister in that movie about the painter everyone thought was suffering some dreadful malady, but she was actually poisoning herself for her art.”

“You remember me from _that_?” Emma stammered, her cheeks heating even more. “That was one of my first roles.”

“Aye, but it was noteworthy. What have you worked on since then?”

Emma tried desperately to force the blush from her cheeks at his words. “A lot of network stuff—I seem to be a favorite for the tough as nails detective, in some variation.”

“Well, that explains why I've not seen more of your recent work. I don't watch much television. I gather that's not the niche-role you'll be fulfilling on this series though?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, as far as I know, there _are_ no detective characters, at least in the first season, but beyond that...I know Emrys quite well, and I know he's not the type to see only the surface of an actor – and as I said, I remember your first role quite well, so I know what you're capable of...”

“Emma,” she muttered, realizing he was waiting for her name. “Swan.”

“No, Emrys will have found something interesting for you, so don't make me wait, Swan – which character will you be bringing to life?”

“Emma?”

Emma's mouth snapped shut at the sound of Neal's voice ringing out in the otherwise silent lobby downstairs, his hand gripping the banister tightly as he wobbled over the split open luggage covering the bottom stair, clothing littered in a circle around it. “Is this ours?”

“What? No,” she sputtered, a wave of embarrassment washing over her as Neal swayed on his feet, clearly inebriated past the point of common sense.

She couldn't bear to drag her eyes away from Neal, to glance back toward the man who was surely looking at her with some emotion she didn't want to see, because it wouldn't be the respect it had been a moment earlier.

“It's mine, mate. Sorry about that. Let me just get that out of the way.”

Emma didn't see Killian's face as he bounced down the stairs to retrieve his things, grabbing whatever was in Neal's path and stuffing them haphazardly inside the broken luggage. Neal grunted something and stumbled up the first step. Killian started to reach out a hand as if to steady him, but perhaps sensing Neal wouldn't take his help kindly, didn't offer it.

Emma couldn't look anywhere but at her bare feet as Neal crested the top of the stairs, she certainly couldn't look beyond him to see the look on Killian's face. Neal stumbled a few steps past her and jiggled the doorknob. Then he turned slowly to run his eyes up and down Emma, who was still staring resolutely at the floor.

“Jesus, Ems, you could put some clothes on.”

She'd thought it couldn't get worse, that she couldn't possibly be more embarrassed, but Neal's words hit her like a slap to the face, her eyes burning with tears as she whipped around and opened the door for her boyfriend, who seemed to have forgotten to work the damned thing. Neal shuffled after, the door swinging closed behind him.

Killian still stood at the bottom of the stairs surrounded by his spilled clothing, his chest twisting with something he didn't quite understand, while inside Emma pressed her hand against the cool glass overlooking the sea, feeling in that moment that she was just as fragile, just as easily shattered.


End file.
